A Study in Regret
by Vintage Tea Party
Summary: When John's sister dies unexpectedly he struggles with regret over their broken relationship. Meanwhile, Sherlock attempts to comfort John and discovers something important that needs saying. Just friendship
1. Chapter 1

"John, hurry up!" Sherlock called impatiently to John. Lestrade had just called Sherlock to come and investigate a new crime scene and John was taking an unusually long time coming down from his bedroom. They had experienced a bit of a dry spell and it had been a while since they had received a summons from Lestrade. Sherlock was bursting with excitement and energy and was ready in an instant but John for some reason was taking a great amount of time getting ready to leave. Sherlock was so anxious to leave that he was just contemplating leaving without John when he finally heard John coming down the stairs. Finally, now they were going to get somewhere.

Sherlock headed for the door, ready to leave at once with John. But he immediately knew that something was wrong before he even saw John. John's steps were slow and heavy. Usually, he would be walking fast and determined. He would also be excited for a new case, a new adventure, new danger. But these steps were the ones of someone heavy laden. Something was troubling John. As John came into view the visual clues further confirmed this conclusion. His head hung and his arms hung at his sides, his mobile gripped in one hand.

"John, what's wrong?" Sherlock said concern evident in his voice.

John opened his mouth to speak but it opened and froze waiting on words that did not come. And still he did not look up. Sherlock walked closer to John and spoke gently "Tell me what's happened."

John looked down at his mobile like it was a foreign object, staring it as if he didn't recognize it. "It's…It's my sister," John said finally looking up at Sherlock. There were tears in his eyes, some even on his face. Sherlock was startled at the sight of it. He had never seen John cry. If John was crying and he didn't even try to hide it, then something was very very wrong.

Sherlock wanted to urge John along to get to the answer faster, so he would know what was happening, but he knew it was better to let John come to it in his own time. John paused for quite a while before finishing his sentence. "She's dead."

Unease filled Sherlock's stomach. Sherlock was used to being around death. He saw people dying all the time or saw someone receive the news that someone they cared about had died. It didn't bother him because it didn't concern him. But this was different. This was John who was affected, John who would be hurting. Sherlock would not be able to escape this.

Sherlock dreaded what he knew would now be a head of him. Death was always so uncomfortable. People were always incredibly emotional surrounding death and highly unpredictable. They often were fine one minute, then crying the next. They would be angry then depressed. They were incredibly nostalgic and in denial of the future. And there were always so many tedious and uncomfortable rituals to go through. Funerals, viewings, family gatherings surrounding food that no one ate. None of it made any sense to Sherlock.

And until this point, he had never been close enough to someone to have to put up with this. But now he would have an obligation to John. John would be very upset and he would expect Sherlock to be there for him. He would have to live with John and his vast array emotions for who knew how long. Sherlock did not look forward to it. And he really didn't know how he was going to do it.

"She was in a car accident…and she's just gone. Died on impact," John said in a very wavering voice. Sherlock could tell that he was just on the edge of losing composure. He spoke in a far away detached voice like he could not believe what was happening. But at the same time Sherlock knew that the pain and reality of it was hitting John hard enough. Sherlock desperately hoped that John would not burst into tears liked it looked like he might.

Sherlock searched his mind desperately for something to say. John looked so sad and he wished to say something that might help, that might ease some of the pain. But Sherlock did not keep that kind information on hand and it was only now he wished he had. Instead he could only think of the most common and cliché thing to say. "John, I'm sorry to hear that."

"I…I…"John started but he couldn't seem to finish the thought if he even knew what the end of it would have been. An uncomfortable distance and silence hung between him and John and he desperately wanted to end it. Things were never uncomfortable with John and he did not like the feeling of it. But Sherlock could not think of anything to do.

John was the one to break the silence. He took several deep breaths before saying "Go ahead and meet Lestrade. I'm…going to stay here," he said heading for the stairs.

Sherlock was more than satisfied with this answer but doubt filled his mind. "John…are you sure you don't want me to stay?" Sherlock offered because he knew it was the right thing to do but he really hoped John said no.

John turned around and looked at Sherlock. His face looked weary and tears weighed heavy in his eyes. He shook his head. "No…I really just want to be alone."

Sherlock looked at John and tried to tell if he was being truthful. It made no sense to him, but often people said one thing when they meant the exact opposite. They expected the person to know what they wanted even though they didn't say it. But as John walked away he could tell that John really meant what he said. So, Sherlock left the flat to solve the latest crime and leave John to deal with his grief alone.

* * *

On the cab ride to the crime scene Sherlock had nothing to do but think about John. He did not know the full details of the crime yet and he did not begin to work a case out until he did. That left him with only John and what had happened to him to think about.

Sherlock was puzzled by the event. John was clearly upset over the news of his sister's death. Sherlock couldn't really figure out why that was. John did not get along with Harry and said that he had never really gotten along with her. John never went to see her and rarely talked to her. When he did talk to her it was because Harry had called him and those conversations were always tense and short as Sherlock had observed on more than one occasion. John never talked about her to Sherlock and Sherlock had never even met her.

The way that Sherlock saw things, John and Harry didn't even have a relationship. They were simply related and nothing more. Sherlock searched his brain for a reason why her death would affect John to the point of tears but he could really find none. This was clearly territory that Sherlock was not well versed in and it made him unsettled. He didn't know what state John was going to be in and he didn't like the feeling. In the past year that he had John had known each other, he had come to know John well. He knew his temperate, his routine, his likes and dislikes. They were comfortable together. But Sherlock had yet to witness John go through a tragedy and he did not know how John would handle it.

However, when he arrived on the crime scene he put thoughts of John to the back of his mind and focused on the work ahead. He walked straight into the dilapidated office building where the dead body of the victim was already surrounded. The victim worked at this office but was confirmed by several people to have been on vacation at the time. And yet his murdered body had been discovered by his fellow employees one morning. Sherlock made observations about the surroundings and was already formulating theories when Lestrade came up to him.

"Where is John?"

John's absence had not escaped anyone's attention. People had come to expect John and Sherlock together as a pair. Where one went the other was always there. It was not at all uncommon for people to ask one where the other was when they were not together. "He's at home," Sherlock quickly replied not taking his eyes or his attention off the work in front of him.

"Why didn't he come? Is he sick or something?"

"No. His sister died," Sherlock said still not deviating from the work in front of him.

"What?" The strange tone in Lestrade's voice made it clear that this was going to become a conversation and Sherlock was going to have to look up from his work.

"I'm a little busy here," Sherlock said looking up and into Lestrade's incredulous face.

"John's sister died?"

"Yes."

"And you're here?"

"Yes. You are the one who called me to come. What does that have to do with the case?" Sherlock asked impatiently, not at all seeing that there was a problem.

"John's sister just died and you came here and left him alone?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. How many times did he need to say things to people for them to hear them? "Yeah."

"Why?"

"Why? What?"

"Why did you leave him there?"

"He didn't want to come. He told me to come without him."

Now it was time for Lestrade to roll his eyes at Sherlock's obliviousness. "Of course he didn't want to come. His _sister _just died. Why didn't you stay at home?"

"You told me to come." Sherlock was beginning to wonder if Lestrade was ever going to leave him alone and let him get back to that work that he wanted help with in the first place.

"Yeah, but I would have understood if you wanted to stay with John."

"John said he wanted to be alone."

"Yeah, but he might have wanted the company anyway."

"John doesn't play those kinds of games with me. He said he wanted to be alone and he meant it."

"Alright," Lestrade said putting his hands up in mock surrender. "If you say so. You know him better than I do. But still you might want to do something nice for him when you get home."

"What for?"

"Sherlock, come on. He's your best friend and he's probably really upset. Even if he wanted to be alone now at some point he probably will want your company and he'll want to know you're there for him."

_Ewww, sentiment_. Sherlock could practically feel it making his skin crawl. He'd been very certain that John did want to be alone. This conversation made him doubt for a second and wonder if maybe John _did _want him to stay. But thinking again about the conversation he had with John he knew that John did want to be alone. But Sherlock had not thought far enough ahead of time to think what John might want later. He felt dread thinking about it. Would John want to _talk_ about it? Would John start _crying_?

"Well, what do you suggest I do?" Sherlock didn't want to ask. He hating asking people for _advice _but if there was one area that he wasn't an expert this was it.

"Just be there for him. If he wants to talk, listen to him. _Listen_," he said emphasizing the word. "If he wants to be left alone, leave him alone but stay close by. And just do something nice for him."

"Like what?"

"Just something you think he'd appreciate." Lestrade smiled slightly when he saw Sherlock's face. "I'm sure you'll come up with something."

Lestrade finally walked away, leaving Sherlock to his work. Sherlock had no idea what he was going to do for John but he couldn't think about that now. He put it at the back of his mind to think about later when he was done at the crime scene and went back to work. He enjoyed focusing on the work in front of him; something he was an expert on. He was already dreading returning home and the sentiment that he was not an expert on.

**Hello Everyone! Sorry it's been a while but I have many stories I am rolling over in my brain and it took me a while to finish just one. I hope you will follow this little hurt/comfort fic of mine. Much awkward Sherlock in sentimental situations ahead :) **


	2. Chapter 2

After leaving the crime scene that evening, Sherlock had to spend a great deal of time thinking about what 'nice' thing he could do for John when he returned home. Sherlock wasn't good at doing nice things for others because he didn't spend a lot of time thinking about others. He had spent most of his life on his own so he had learned to take care of himself and himself only. With John it was at least possible for him to think of something nice to do for him but it still wasn't easy. He kept of list of things he knew about John in his mind, things he liked, things he didn't like (a much longer list) but nothing seemed appropriate. Finally, after having had to think about it for much longer than he wanted to he finally settled on stopping at John's favorite restaurant and getting take away for him.

Sherlock did care about John but he was greatly dreading returning to the flat. He didn't know what to say or what to do for John. He'd never really dealt with such a situation and honestly wouldn't put up with it for anyone else but John. But why, he wondered, was John an exception?

When he walked into the flat it was quiet. He looked around the living room but did not find any evidence that John had been there since Sherlock had left earlier that day. Sherlock walked upstairs to John's bedroom but stopped suddenly as he approached it. The door was cracked and through it he could clearly hear the sound of crying. Panic gripped his heart and he was filled with that ever present feeling of awkwardness he always felt when it came to interactions with others. But there was something else there that he did not usually feel. Was it sadness? But why should _he _be sad? Was he sad just because John was sad? _Interesting_.

Sherlock felt like he was intruding. He should just leave and wait for John to seek him out and hopefully John wouldn't; Sherlock dreaded the idea of having to deal with this emotional outburst. In John's defense, it wasn't really an emotional outburst. He was crying but softly and not out of hand either. But to Sherlock any display of emotions felt like an outburst. He started to back away from the door and head downstairs when he stopped himself. _No_, he thought. He would not allow his emotions to control him. They were not in charge; he was and John needed him so that is where he would be.

He made a few loud footsteps to give John a warning that he was approaching before knocking on the door. "John, I brought some take away home if you want any."

Sherlock heard the crying stop and there was a pause before John answered. "I'm not really hungry."

Sherlock felt deflated. He figured that this had not been the right thing to do. He had thought about it for so long and had still gotten it wrong. He could never get these things right. He was just about to leave when he heard John speak again. "Thank you, Sherlock. I'll eat it later."

"You're welcome," he said even though he was unsure.

"You can come in. If you want."

The truth was Sherlock really _didn't _want to but he knew it was a request, not an invitation. John wanted Sherlock to come in. Sherlock had to stop himself from sighing out loud as he inwardly sighed very loudly. He pushed the door open and found John sitting on the bed with a photo album in his hand. _Oh no, _he thought, _this is going to be terrible. _

John smiled at him slightly but Sherlock hoped he didn't really think that he was fooling anyone. It was very obvious that he was upset and that he had been crying. Sherlock remembered Lestrade's advice and determined to sound pleasant instead of awkward like he felt. Sherlock walked over to the bed and sat beside John. "How was the case?" John asked, trying to sound normal.

"It was rather simplistic. Pretty obvious really."

John shook his head but didn't say anything.

"Do you…uh…want to talk about it?" Sherlock asked, after a few uncomfortable moments of silence. Try as hard as he could, the word 'talk' sounded like a curse word coming out of his mouth, his distain for it was so poorly hidden.

It did not escape John's attention and he actually smiled a little. "Do you want me talk about it?" he asked.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow as if to say 'Do you really want me to answer that?' But he bit his tongue and instead said "I'm willing to listen if you want to talk about it." And after he said it he realized that he actually meant it. It surprised him that he sincerely felt that way but he did. He wouldn't feel this way for anyone else. He would leave anyone else to deal with their feelings and not think another second about it. But it was different with John. He felt himself actually sad about the fact that John was sad and he did want to do something that might make John feel better.

John hesitated at first. Maybe he didn't know where to start or maybe he was debating whether or not he really wanted to share it with Sherlock. But after a few moments John began to speak. "We use to be close. I don't really remember most of it but we did," he said staring down at some of the pictures. "She's older than me-_was_ older than me," he amended with a pained expression. "By 8 years."

"It was a big age difference but that wasn't really the problem, at least at first. She used to take care of me a lot. I vaguely remember some of it. Her playing with me and taking me places but mostly I've just seen the pictures."

"So…what happened?"

"It was the alcohol. That was always the problem. When she was in high school she just got rebellious. She started going to crazy parties, stayed out all night, normal teenage stuff really. But then she started drinking, a lot, and it made everything else worse.

"My parents didn't really know what to do and they were always fighting with her. I was mad at her because she didn't spend any time with me anymore. My parents would ask me questions about her, like did I know where she was or what she was doing. I was angry that I was being put in the middle when she didn't even talk to me anymore. Then Harry would tell me to keep quiet and not tell them anything but I was so young I didn't even know what I was supposed to be hiding.

"But even that wasn't really the problem. I hated being stuck in the middle but it wasn't enough for me to write her off completely. Most people thought it was a phase and that she would grow out of it but she didn't. Her and my parents were in constant conflict with each other and her drinking was affecting everything. She didn't care about anything or anyone else when she was on it. She was never around. Even when she wasn't around she was ruining things. She missed my high school graduation and instead of the day being about me my parents just spent the whole day being mad at her and wondering where she was. She missed everything and didn't even care. She even missed our dad's funeral."

John turned and looked seriously at Sherlock. "Harry is like a different person when she is drinking. Sober Harry is nice, sober Harry is the one who use to take care of me and play with me when I was a kid, sober Harry is the one who calls me and still wants to look after me. But sober Harry isn't around very often and it isn't worth putting up with drunk Harry in order to get those few moments with sober Harry."

This is where John stopped his story. Sherlock hadn't had to remind himself to be quiet and listen. John had never explained what had happened between him and his sister and it was good to know what had happened.

"John, I have a question," Sherlock wasn't sure if he should say it or not. It might not be good.

"Yeah?"

"Well…you didn't get along with you sister. I'm puzzled by the fact that you are so upset with her death. Why are you so upset?"

Sherlock was relived that he didn't seem to make John angry with his question. And John didn't act like Sherlock was stupid for asking. Everyone else acted like Sherlock was stupid for not knowing sometimes the most basic of human interactions. But John didn't act like he was stupid. "I may have not gotten along with Harry but she was still my sister. I still loved her. You know what I mean?"

It didn't make sense to Sherlock. He knew nearly nothing about love but he had assumed that two people must at least have a better relationship than John and Harry did for love to exist between them. This emotion of love was apparently much more complex than Sherlock had ever realized. "Not really."

"Well it's like, you and Mycroft don't really get along but you're still brothers so you would probably say you loved him."

Sherlock thought about it for a moment. He'd not really thought about it before and it made him uncomfortable. If he was going to say that he loved anyone it wouldn't be Mycroft it would be… Oh, that was an interesting. Where had _that _thought come from?

Sherlock grimaced. "I wouldn't really say that."

"Well, I loved Harry. And…" John started but there was a catch in his voice and his eyes shown with unshed tears. "I never told her. I never told her I loved her. We never got to patch things up. I just wish I had told her."

Regret. That was something that Sherlock had not expected to be a cause for John's grief. It got him thinking. Sherlock hoped that the conversation had made John feel better because it had just left him feeling more confused than he was before it began. John had answered a lot of questions but he had given Sherlock many more to think about.

A few minuets later the two of them were still sitting in silence when John finally spoke. "I think I'm going to get some sleep," John said quietly.

Sherlock recognized this as a request to be alone and was glad to hear it. "Alright," he said heading for the door to leave John alone.

"Thanks Sherlock," John called after him.

"You're welcome John," Sherlock said. He was relived to hear that he had gotten something right.

* * *

Sherlock had no idea why he was here. He was at a funeral for someone he didn't know, had never even met. Sherlock didn't go to funerals, for anyone, not even people that he had known. So, why in the world was he here at Harry Watson's funeral? John hadn't even asked him to come. John had said nothing about the funeral and had been quite obviously surprised when Sherlock had said he was going to accompany John.

Sherlock had had thoughts and feelings nagging him ever since John had talked about his relationship with his sister. Strangely enough, it had made him think about his own relationship with John. Thinking about how John loved his sister even though he did not have a good relationship with her and thinking about how much he regretted not telling her how he felt made Sherlock think thoughts he had not really considered. He was also perplexed by the fact that he compelled to see John through this thing when he would have before.

It was as terrible as he had anticipated. A crowd of people surrounded the grave all clad in black. Nearly every person was crying, unashamedly displaying their emotions in public for everyone to see. It was disgusting. That's why Sherlock hated funerals. All it was was a group of people getting together and making each other even sadder than they already were. There was no point to it. How did it help people to mourn by getting in a group and crying?

But John wasn't like the others. Sherlock watched him out of the corner of his eye. John stood straight, his hands clasped in front of him in his true military posture the very one that had told Sherlock the first time that he had met John that he was ex-military. John wasn't crying but Sherlock could see that he was struggling not to. His resolve had been strong at the beginning but it had broken down more and more as the funeral had gone on. Now that they were lowering Harry's casket into the ground John couldn't keep all the tears in. A few rolled out and John brushed them away quickly. He knew how to keep his emotions under control unlike the rest of the people here.

Sherlock was alarmed to feel a tug on his own heart at the sight of John's tears. It was that terrible nagging feeling he had been feeling since this whole thing began. He was pretty sure he knew what the emotion was though he didn't really want to admit it. He had not known it existed between him and John but this strange situation had brought it to the front of his mind.

It had been so strange to see John mourning so much for a sister that he didn't even talk to. Even after he had explained it, Sherlock still didn't get it. He didn't know how a person could love someone that they didn't even talk to. Love must be an even more complicated thing that he had previously thought. And watching how much regret John had felt for not telling his sister how he felt about her had been strange to see.

Sherlock wanted to do something for John but he was at a loss to figure out what it should be. He guessed that was what had pushed him into attending this dreadful event. He wanted John to know that he was here for him. That sounded terribly sentimental but it was what it was. He didn't feel like his presence was doing any good at all and he tried to think of what he should do or say but the truth was that he just didn't know what to do in these situations. He thought about reaching out and putting a hand on John's shoulder but he knew that, while that would show John he was here for him, it would also accelerate the crying and he was pretty sure that John didn't want that to happen anymore than Sherlock did.

When the service ended Sherlock just hung back and let John take the lead. He didn't say anything and pretended not to notice John's show of grief but Sherlock knew that John knew he saw everything. They walked for a few feet before John said "Thank you."

"For what?" Sherlock asked confused.

"For coming here with me. I know you must hate all of this."

Sherlock could have said a lot of things but for John's sake he kept his mouth shut for once. It was indeed strange the things he was doing for John. "I haven't really done anything," he finally said.

"But you're here with me and I'm thankful."

Sherlock really didn't think it was all that much but it did seem to make John feel better so he figured it was worth putting up with for a little while longer.

**I hope you're enjoying this story. Expect some comic relief in the next chapter :) **


	3. Chapter 3

"Just take some of the casserole, it's Aunt Edna's. Oh, and you have to get some of the potatoes my cousin Jeanie made those."

"I told you I wasn't hungry," Sherlock said staring at distain at the food that John was shoveling onto his plate.

"I know but just get some," John whispered back.

"But I'm not going to eat it. You should know that."

"I _do_ know that," John said exasperated. Of course he knew Sherlock wouldn't eat anything; he hardly ever did anyway.

"Then _why _am I getting any?"

"Because if they see that we don't have any of it they'll be insulted."

"So? I don't even know who these people are." Sherlock found the whole situation ridiculous and he was sure that he was not doing a good job of concealing the fact that this was the way he felt.

"Just get some of it!" John snapped. Then thinking about it he added in a kinder voice "Please."

Sherlock took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to remain calm. He was trying to be a good friend for John but at the moment John was making it difficult. John had not said that a meal was to follow the funeral and as bad as Sherlock thought the funeral was it was nothing compared to this. There were people everywhere, pressed into the small house, entirely too close for comfort and also talking way too loudly than was needed for such a small space. He hated mingling and talking with _people_.And he had no intention of eating any of this food, made by people he did not know, and surrounded by dozens of other people.

Sherlock didn't even know why they were here. John had been extremely wound up since the moment they had gotten here. Sherlock had known John for over a year now and this was the first time that he had met any of John's family. John's mother and father had both died some years ago and he had been obviously estranged from his one sibling, Harry. John was obviously not close with any of his extended family since he never mentioned them or saw them. He seemed to be as, or maybe even more, uncomfortable with the situation than Sherlock was.

"John, why are we even here?"

John looked incredulously at Sherlock as if the question didn't even require an answer. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted.

"Oh, John, there you are," said an older woman coming up and putting her hand on John's shoulder. "It's been so long since I've seen you."

"Oh, hi Aunt Edna," John said with a polite (yet obviously fake) smile, giving her a small hug. Sherlock observed that John was not happy to see this relative and he could also see why. She looked innocent enough. She had graying hair, was well dressed, and overwhelming perfume. But she had a glint in her eye that didn't seem to have John's best in mind. "We were just talking about your casserole," he said gesturing towards his plate. "This is my flatmate Sherlock Holmes," John said gesturing Sherlock.

Sherlock inwardly groaned at John for directing the attention at him. Luckily for him, it didn't seem to slow down the older woman who would not be deterred from focusing her attention on John. "Oh, flatmate? So, you still aren't married yet?" she said eyeing Sherlock curiously.

"Ah, no not yet," John said uncomfortably.

The woman was like a vulture circling around a dead body. "Just planning on enjoying the bachelor's life forever?" she said with a laugh.

John gave uncomfortable laugh "Well, maybe. I don't know. Just haven't found the right girl yet."

"Well, you just have to put yourself out there."

Sherlock gave uncontrollable scoffing laugh beside John. This woman really knew nothing about John did she? John just glared at him from the corner of his eye.

"We'll see. Right now, I'm fine where I am."

Aunt Edna just shook her head. "It's just a shame. You should have a family of your own. You'd have such beautiful children."

John's face blushed in red and Sherlock was surprised that he was at a loss for words. Was this common? Was it ordinary for family members, who you had not seen for years to ask questions about such personal matters? Was it ordinary for those same people that really knew nothing about you to make judgments about your life? Sherlock didn't know much about family interactions but even he thought that sounded strange. "Well…I…uh," John stuttered out.

"Your mother would have been sad if she knew that she was never going to have any grandbabies," the woman said sadly.

"You're happy about it," Sherlock suddenly exclaimed.

"What?" the woman said innocently. It was an insult to Sherlock's intelligence for her to think he would be so easily fooled.

"Nothing," John interjected. "We actually need to go Sherlock-"

"I said you're happy about it. You're happy by John's life choices because you think your sister, his mother, would be disappointed. Do you deny it?"

Aunt Edna's mouth dropped open. "How dare you imply such a thing!"

"I'm not _implying _anything. I'm stating it as fact."

"Sherlock!" John warned beside him but it was no use.

"The _fact_ is that you are disappointed with your own children and the choices they have made. You are hoping that your sister's children would be just as much a disappointment to her. And even though she is deceased you are still trying to 'one up' her. You think that because of John's age and the fact that he is still single, you assume he will never marry or have a family of his own. A little soon to making such an assumption I would say considering John is still young and lives a rather _social _life. That coupled with the fact that her only other child is now dead and had no children, leads you to believe that your sister will never have any grandchildren of her own and that makes you feel quite deviously happy. Does it not?" he finished with a smile.

John just stared uncomfortably at the floor and shook his head. Aunt Edna was fuming. "How dare you! How dare you say that I am happy! And at my own niece's funeral. You should be ashamed of yourself," she said glaring at Sherlock. Then turning towards John, "And John, I do hope you will decide to keep better company. Your _flatemate _is quite undesirable in my opinion," she said turning and walking stiffly away.

Sherlock just stood there looking at John and waiting. John just shook his head. "I shouldn't be surprised. After all this time I shouldn't be surprised but I am."

"By what?" Sherlock asked innocently.

"You. It's my fault. I brought you home to my family. I should have known."

"I simply made a deduction."

"Yeah, Sherlock but you don't need to be mean about it."

Sherlock thought about the conversation he had just had and could not see the problem. "I didn't say anything to her that wasn't the absolute truth."

"I have no doubt about that but you didn't need to say it."

"Why not? That woman was being intrusive and it was obvious that you were not going to say anything. I took it upon myself to speak for you."

"Of course you did."

After a pause, Sherlock asked quietly "Do you want me to leave?"

"No," John said, now he was confused. "Of course not."

"Alright then."

"Just try to keep your deductions to yourself."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John. "I'll try but I make no guarantees. You know it doesn't work like that and your family…" he said shaking his head.

"What?"

"There's just a lot to read."

"Just try. It's a funeral. It's not decent."

"Well, I've never been to a funeral."

"Never?" John said taken aback.

"No."

"But you came with me?" John said quietly, all the anger and frustration gone from his voice.

"Yes. Obviously," Sherlock said. "Something wrong with that?"

"No," John said shaking his head. Realizing Sherlock's uncomfortableness he brushed it off. "Let's find somewhere to sit down."

They were making their way through the crowded rooms and had not gotten very far when another voice was calling out to get John's attention.

"Johnny. Hey Johnny," a man said waving at John as they passed by. Sherlock looked at the man to see if he was calling to John because no one called John 'Johnny'. But the grimace on John's face said that he was indeed the one this man was calling for. To Sherlock's surprise John just kept walking and pretended not to notice even though it was clear that John had heard the man.

"Who is that?" Sherlock whispered.

"That's Mark, my dad's annoying older brother. He still calls me Johnny like I'm eight years old."

The man just kept calling and loudly at that so John knew they weren't going to lose him. He turned around with another plastered smile on his face. "Hey Mark. How are you?"

The man was loud and boisterous and grated on Sherlock's nerves. He slapped John on the shoulder. "Oh you know same old, same old. What about you, Johnny? I haven't heard much about you since you returned to London."

"I'm doing well. This is my flatmate Sherlock Holmes," he said introducing Sherlock.

Sherlock reluctantly shook the man's hand and was glad when his attention focused back on John. "So, I heard you got injured."

"Yeah, I got shot. It wasn't that bad though."

"Well, we did tell you that might happen didn't we Johnny? War, it's a dangerous mess isn't it? It's no place for an educated man like yourself."

Sherlock could see on John's face that this was not a new argument. Apparently, John's family had not been in support of his going into the army. It was unusual for Sherlock to think about. John was so much a part of his life that it was hard to imagine that John had a life before that Sherlock knew little about.

Sherlock could also see on John's face that he was trying not to get angry with this man. Sherlock could understand why it would be frustrating. He couldn't imagine why John's family had been opposed to the idea. John was a doctor and had lots of potential options open to him. The fact that he had chosen to use that expertise to help in the army seemed to Sherlock like a very noble choice.

"They do need doctors in the army," John said in a forced jovial tone.

"Yeah, of course they do. But you have a lot more profitable and safer options open to you."

"Well, I suppose that's true. But I feel like my time spent in the army was profitable in others ways. I did get hurt but it wasn't that serious and I'm fully recovered now."

Sherlock was glad to hear that John was starting to stand up for himself and his choices. But his uncle was not to be deterred. He gave John a punch on a shoulder and gave a laugh. John didn't seem to appreciate either.

"Well that's good. Real good, Johnny. So, what are you up to these days? Working at the hospital again?"

"No. I'm actually not practicing medicine at the moment. I've been helping Sherlock. He's a consulting detective."

"What does that mean?"

"He's a detective for hire; he solves crimes for people and with the police force. He's becoming quite famous actually. You might have seen the articles in the newspapers."

"No, I don't think so," he said dubiously. "So, you're not doctoring anymore?"

"No, not at the moment."

"So, you're unemployed?"

"Well, I guess technically you could say that."

"Doesn't that bother you?"

Sherlock didn't like this. "He's not unemployed. He works with me," Sherlock said stiffly.

"Yeah, but you don't have a proper job."

"The work that John does is real," Sherlock said with a frown. Who did this man think he was?

"Actually," John said interrupting what he saw to be an imminent fight. "It doesn't bother me."

"But you're a doctor; doesn't it bother you at all that you're unemployed?"

Sherlock noticed that the crease that always showed up on John's forehead when he was mad was very present on his forehead at the moment. "No, it doesn't. I'm enjoying what I'm doing right now."

"Wow, that's great," Mark said condescendingly. He didn't at all think it was great and all three of them knew it.

"Actually it is great," Sherlock said. "Just because your life hasn't gone as planned and it's left you bitter and cynical doesn't mean that John's has left him the same."

The man looked shocked and a bit uncomfortable at Sherlock's deduction. "What are you talking about?"

"Sherlock," John warned beside him. It was the inflection that John used when he was warning Sherlock not to do the very thing that he had in mind to do. Sherlock decided to proceed anyway, as he usually did; he was done with these people and their comments about John and the way he was using his life.

"I'm talking about your dissatisfaction with your dead end career and your loveless marriage. It's rather obvious that you are dissatisfied with your life and this is not at all how you thought it would end up. You try to cover up your depression and dullness with a large personality but I should tell you've gone a little overboard with it. I would wager that you are bound for a full blown mid life crisis any day now. Already you've considered looking for someone else that might make you happier since you know that your wife has fallen out of love with you."

"Sherlock!" John said sternly beside him. John's uncle just looked at Sherlock with a red face stuttering but unable to form a word.

"John, on the other hand," Sherlock continuing on with his point, "Is rather satisfied with the way that his life has taken a turn for the unexpected. True, he thought he would spend the rest of his career in the medical field but after the war he was looking for something more exciting and he's found it," he said looking at John with a smile. "John's work is so important and his write ups about it so interesting in fact that even the queen reads his blog about it. I'd dare anyone else in this family to do any better."

Sherlock walked on, leaving John's uncle behind burning with anger but silenced for once. John, also a bit angry, was temporarily stunned but shook it off and followed after Sherlock. "Sherlock!"

"What?"

"What was that?"

"It was another deduction, John," Sherlock said with a smirk.

"What did I say?"

"I told you I could make no promises. Why does it bother you anyway?"

"What?"

"Why does it bother you that I insulted him? You don't even like that man."

"Well, yeah, but he's still my uncle."

"So what? You never talk to him and he just waltzes up to you and wants to make judgments about how you're spending your life. He was insulting you with things that weren't true; I simply insulted him with the painful truth."

John was silent for a few moments before grinning. "What?" Sherlock asked.

"It bothered you."

"What bothered me?"

"It bothered you that he insulted me."

Sherlock shifted a bit uncomfortably. It did bother him that these people were insulting John. He didn't like seeing them make John feel bad about himself. Even more, he hated the insinuations that the work that John did was not important. John's presence was so invaluable to Sherlock in so many ways that it was pure ignorance to act as if he was just a tag along. Sherlock may have been in the spotlight and John wasn't but that did not mean that John wasn't ever bit as important as he was. Not that he was going to admit that anyone.

"Well, it's just that he did not know what he was talking about. People's ignorance really bothers me," he said as he tried to brush off. The grin did not fade off of John's face though. "Doesn't it bother you?" directing the attention back on John.

"That's just how families are I suppose," John said shrugging. "They have their opinions and they make them known."

"But these people haven't even seen you since before you left for the war. I don't know how they could think they really can form an opinion about you after all this time."

"Well, unfortunately, families are usually the most critical of our life choices. They formed their opinions about me and the way my life should go a long time ago and they're sticking to them even though I've changed over the years. I really just try to not let it get to me. I'm happy with where I am and that's what's most important."

"Now you see why I never interacted with my own family. It seems to be more and more the correct choice."

John chuckled quietly beside Sherlock. "Yeah, I can see your point a little. But are you going to insult all of family today?"

Sherlock gave John a half smile. "Only if they deserve it."


	4. Chapter 4

John sat on the couch picking at the food on his plate but not really eating any of it. Sherlock sat silently beside him, holding his own plate in his hands, food untouched and making no effort to eat any of it. The room was pretty full and people were talking amongst themselves but thankfully for the moment they were leaving John alone. He nearly scowled at the food in front of him; if he had been at all hungry before the conversations with his family had taken that little bit of appetite away.

He sighed quietly to himself. This day had been emotionally draining and he was so tired. The sadness of watching them bury his sister, his regret over the way that they had left things, and the stress of having to interact with his family had been almost more than he could handle. He just wanted to go home, crawl in bed, and be alone for a while. He couldn't wait until this day was behind him and he tried to figure out how much longer they should stay here until it was acceptable to leave.

He glanced over at Sherlock. He sat completely still beside John, perfect posture, dark coat still on, and staring straight ahead. Obviously, he was uncomfortable and hating every second of this experience. John really couldn't believe that Sherlock was here. He hadn't even asked Sherlock to come with him because he was sure that Sherlock wouldn't say yes in a million years. But here he was and John was, despite the run ins with his relatives, very grateful. It had meant a lot to him to have Sherlock by his side. As heavy as this day weighed upon him, he knew that he had gained strength by having his friend by his side.

John spent a few more minuets lost in thought, when suddenly Sherlock declared beside him "John, I think I love you."

At precisely that second, all conversations in the room had ceased and the room was perfectly quiet for Sherlock's declaration. All heads popped up and over to where Sherlock and John were seated. The faces of all John's family members looked at John and Sherlock in shock and maybe a bit of horror. Their mouths dropped open and their eyes stared wide.

John bolted out of his own train of thought and his head snapped up meeting the many sets of eyes staring at him and his flatmate. Wondering, they were all wondering what he would say. A million questions sat on their faces. A million questions swirled in John's own mind. Surely, he must have heard Sherlock wrong. A plethora of emotions rushed through his system and he somehow managed to turn his head and look at Sherlock.

Sherlock sat there calmly, his head already turned back and staring ahead at the point he had been looking at before. He was acting as if he had said the most normal and mundane of things. He was completely oblivious to the energy in the room and the attention that was directed at him and John at this moment. He felt himself break out in a sweat all over his body and yet his mouth was so incredibly dry as he tried to get it to work. "Wh-what-what did you say?"

"I said 'I think I love you.' I thought you ought to know," he replied nonchalantly. The crowd around them now started to murmur and smile slightly. They looked as if they were watching the most interesting telly program. John knew he had to do something.

"Sherlock, uh…let's uh…step outside, ok? Yeah," he said not waiting for a reply and grabbing Sherlock's arm and leading him outside.

Sherlock surprisingly followed John outside and now that they were out here it was easy to see that Sherlock's act of calmness was just that, an act. "John, really, what are we doing out here?"

"Sherlock, you want to explain what is going on here?"

"You're the one that brought me out here," Sherlock said trying to brush the attention off of him and back on to John.

"No, I mean about what you said. In there."

"John, there is really no need to make a big deal out of it." John was surprised to see that Sherlock was fidgeting. He shifted from foot to foot and his eyes were darting everywhere but at John. Sherlock was nervous.

"I think there is. You've…never said that to me. What did you mean by that?"

John's head was spinning and he wasn't sure he wanted the answer. Hearing Sherlock say that he loved John was the last thing John thought he would hear today. He didn't think Sherlock meant it _that _way but one could never be sure of anything around Sherlock Holmes. John knew that he was the one person in the world that knew the most about Sherlock and still he knew so little. And the fact that Sherlock was so nervous, the fact that he was nervous at all, made John's unease grow.

Realization dawned on Sherlock's face as he put together what John was asking. He sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. "Please, John, how many times do we have to have _this_ conversation? No, I didn't mean it _that_ way. And honestly, I just wish I hadn't said anything at all," he said turning and walking back towards the house.

O.K. so Sherlock didn't mean he was _in love_ with John. That was a relief. Now that John had cleared that up he could move on. He'd obviously embarrassed Sherlock and he had to make things right. "Wait, Sherlock. Stop." But Sherlock just kept walking. John rushed after him and grabbed him by the arm. Sherlock turned around to face him.

"What?" Sherlock said impatiently.

"I'm glad you said something." Sherlock just gave a little humph in response.

"I'm sorry I embarrassed you."

"You didn't embarrass me," Sherlock scoffed as if it was the most preposterous thought in the world.

"O.k." John said though he didn't believe that for one second. "I'm sorry I got it wrong then."

Sherlock relaxed a little but John could still see he was still uncomfortable. "I just…you've never said that to me," John explained.

Sherlock looked around before finally looking back at John. "That is why I said it. So, you would know."

"What brought this on?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked like this was the last conversation that he wanted to have. "This isn't a big deal. I just…this whole situation just got me thinking."

John raised his eyebrow in response. "What situation?"

"It's just, that I've seen how much you regret not telling your sister how much you cared for her. You did love her and you would have told her but you ran out of time. Well, it just made me think that that could happen to anyone really. And…I just wanted you to know how I felt because I never have told you." Sherlock said all of this not meeting John's eyes but he added quickly "And I'll not be having a bunch of guilt on my shoulders on account of you, alright? If something were to happen to you I just do not have time for guilt. Muddles the brain, slows down the thinking and I'll not have it," he said sternly but John could tell it was not real.

John had to stifle a laugh. Sherlock was so uncomfortable and nervous and it was funny to see. But John kept it in, knowing Sherlock wouldn't find it funny at all. "Oh."

"I mean, really, it should be obvious. I shouldn't have had to say it in the first place. Your deductions skills are quite mediocre. You should really work on that."

Now John smiled. "I will."

"Alright, well I'm glad we cleared that up," Sherlock said turning and starting to walk away.

"Sherlock," John said calling after him. Sherlock turned around and faced John. "I feel the same way. I thought you ought to know."

Sherlock just smiled in response. "How about we get out of here and go home?" John suggested.

"It is about time," Sherlock said with a genuine smile.

**That concludes "A Study in Regret." I hope that you enjoyed it and I hope you'll leave me a comment. If you're a Doctor Who fan check out a little one shot I just finished called "Heavy Memories." Thanks for reading!**


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